A Secret's Worth
by Iliveinapineappleunderthesea
Summary: A secret's worth depends on the people from whom it must be kept. In which John is hiding the fact that he is an omega, and Sherlock is trying to prevent his brother from finding out. Neither of them seem to be doing very well. Which is unfortunate, considering the government's stance on unbonded omegas.


**Disclaimer: I do not own.**

**AN: Alright, so this is just the prologue which I'm using to give the basic background information about John and the universe this is set in. The actual chapters will be longer so don't be concerned about the length of this.**

**Yes, I'm starting another fic when I should really be concentrating on my other ones, but I just couldn't help myself. Enjoy!**

**WARNINGS: Mentions of forced bondings, smut in later chapters, language warnings. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.**

**This will also be posted on AO3 under the user hblankm**

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><p>A secret's worth depends on the people from whom it must be kept. So a secret that needed to be kept from the entire government, as well as anyone who would tell the government (which would be everyone) must have a high worth indeed. Quite frankly, John thought it ridiculous that his <em>gender<em> was a secret of such worth. This didn't stop him from guarding it like one.

The day John found out he was an omega he had been terrified. Ever since The Great Plague omegas had been exceedingly rare, and their inability to reproduce, combined with their irresistible heats every three months had caused both alphas and betas to see them as nothing but wanton sex slaves, and they were deemed, by law, property of the government from the moment they first presented. They were then sold to various rich companies or individuals and were given no choice either in their bondmate or the circumstances of their bonding. It was a fate that John could not accept for himself.

He had been lucky, really, that his mother had been the only one home when he had presented, both his father and Harry away on one of their many fishing trips. Thank god he hadn't gone, thinking that the strange feelings in his stomach were something akin to the flu. John loved his father but knew that Hamish Watson would've turned him in and registered him without hesitation. The man's loyalty to his government was practically religious.

John's mother, on the other hand, was much more sympathetic to omegas. John had seen her frowning at the propaganda on the telly and knew she never would have let the authorities get a hold on him. When John had shakily come down to her study, terrified and flushed, the beta woman had taken one sniff at the pheromones surrounding him thickly and hurried him up to his room.

_"It's okay," _John remembered her saying as she held him tightly in his room, rocking him gently in her arms, "_I know someone who can help us John; no one ever has to know about you."_ And with that she had shut him in his room, secured the house tightly and rushed off in her car. John still remembered the desperation he'd felt in those first few hours, locked up in his room with nothing remotely like what he wanted, _needed_, desperately fingering himself in his wanton need for somebody to claim him, _own_ him and _fuck_ him until he couldn't move. Then the shame and embarrassment when his mother had reappeared at his doorway to find him rutting feverishly against his own bed and he had still been completely powerless to stop, even when he could see her _standing there_ with absolute mortification at seeing her son in such a compromising and frantic state. He'd just kept going and actually _moaned_ as she hurriedly searched through the bag she'd been carrying and practically threw a plastic container of pills onto his bedside table. _"Just take one of these, John, it might take a while to kick in"_ she'd said before rushing out of his room and slamming the door behind her. It had taken four hours before the pills finally started working and he'd been able to think clearly, and he hadn't been able to face his mother until the morning of the next day when he'd had no choice but to leave his room to go to the bathroom. She'd been extremely understanding of course, and explained he'd have to take the pills once a day to prevent his heat from coming on and to mask his scent. It was completely illegal and John felt terrible for putting her in a position where she could get arrested because of him but he was nonetheless entirely grateful to her from saving him from a lifetime as some rich man's sex slave, or worse as the property of some of the more unpleasant companies which would hire out omegas to clients during heats and then lock them up in disgusting conditions whilst they were off of them.

John had soon started purchasing the pills himself when his mother gave him the details of the friend she'd gotten them from, hoping to relieve her of some of the burden he'd caused her. She was always so encouraging though, and the pride on her face when he'd graduated from medical school as a doctor and a beta was something he would never forget. Then she had died in that car crash and John had almost immediately signed up for the army, unable to cope with his drunk sister and politically obsessed father, who had been ecstatic at the idea of John fighting for his country and full heartedly supported him, something John found unpleasant, knowing how his father would feel if he knew the truth.

So off John had gone with determination and a bag filled with his 'medication'. He'd revelled in the comradeship he'd had with the other men and found he enjoyed the challenges of his career. Then the day had come where he'd been shot and invalided back home, after all, the army had no use for a medic with a limp and an intermittent tremor in his dominant hand. He'd been bored, of course, and frustrated by the limits his injury had forced upon him. Unable to afford rent he'd had to either move out of London or get a flatmate. That had been when his old friend Mike Stanfford had introduced him to Sherlock Holmes, who'd immediately deduced almost everything about him and then left giving only a name and an address. And John had found himself running around without a limp and shooting serial killers the first night he'd moved in and had decided that yes, this was perfect, and if he happened to be kidnapped a couple of times by Sherlock's family members and consulting criminals alike, well, that just made it all the more interesting.

But of course, life with Sherlock was about to get even _more_ interesting.

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><p><strong>AN: Thanks for reading and please review, I am totally open to concrit :)<strong>


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